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the melancholy ascetic
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I was reading "shagging_tally" and thought "hmm, a couple of dozen or slightly more, perhaps..." but while i'm not ashamed of it i am also not particularly proud of it.
There is a certain irony that none of those, that small handful whom i loved so dearly and desired so intensely are on that list though.
It sometimes seems as if fate has designed this as a neat little cage.
Admittedly, one i have grown tired of dwelling in.
So maybe there is truth to the talk about the lasting appeal of the unattainable, because my dreams each night are a litany of close calls and thoughts of what might have been, a memory of fleeting pleasure here and a pang of unfed desire there.
I would try to fill the emptiness with the same kind of meaningless junk_food_sex that I used to - you know, the kind where neither side cares for anything beyond the immediacy of the moment - but it holds no thrill for me anymore.
It's so hard to hope though, even if i do i play at optimism sometimes. Eventually you get tired of chasing shadows.
I've had an indulgent past, so much so that if i died today there is very little that i could say i have not done. But all of that is really just cold comfort.
After all what good is a good day without someone to share it? A smile with none to see it.
Sympathy and empathy with no one to connect to?
a hand with none to hold.
A voice and a song with none to sing for
Forgive me if i've grown too plaintive.
but today aches like nothing i have ever felt.
or maybe with what i've always felt.
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020321
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